“That reminds me—I gotta get to the grocery store,” Becki comments, selecting a strawberry and taking a bite. “Actually, where is the grocery store?”

I give her directions, and that leads her to digging through her diaper bag for a notepad, and that leads me to sketching out several rough maps with the best local restaurants, a great bookstore, this absolutely wonderful bakery over on Huron Avenue. I feel like I’m drawing a map to the life I used to live. Here are places where you should shop, eat, and play. Here are things you, your husband, and your children would enjoy doing.

Cambridge is such a nice town, filled with historic grandeur mixed with the hip Harvard scene. Maybe I could bring Evan to the park more often. Maybe I could attempt the special-needs playgroup again. Or perhaps the local pool. Evan’s pretty good at pools. The swimming tires him out, keeps him distracted. I could bring a book, relax in the sun. I could mix us both fun, fruity drinks. Strawberry smoothies, virgin piña coladas. Michael and I went to Baja once, where we drank the best piña coladas, made with fresh fruit juice and rum. We’d drink them starting at sunrise, while lounging on the beach, digging our toes into the warm, white sand….

“Victoria?”

I’m lost in my fantasy, making the mistake of remembering better days, of wanting a life beyond the cage in which I live. The high-pitched note in Becki’s voice brings me back. I stop drawing a map to the best coffee shop. I look at the playground. It takes me only a second to understand Becki’s shrill tone.

Evan and the little boy are gone.

I start with the usual platitudes. They couldn’t have gone far, we’d only glanced away for a minute. Why doesn’t she check by the street? I’ll start with the woods.

Becki obediently rushes toward the empty sidewalk. I make a beeline for the woods, calling Evan’s and Ronnie’s names. Nothing.

My heart’s beating too hard, my breath growing shallow. Maybe the boys are playing hide-and-seek. Maybe Evan saw Ronnie toddle off, and set out to rescue him. Maybe they’d just gotten curious. Boys do that. Some boys at least.

I trot down the impossibly long wooded perimeter, calling, calling, calling. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.